


Self-Destruction

by Skullszeyes



Series: Touch Of Salvation [6]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Kissing, Light Angst, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19142716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Fushimi goes to Misaki's to get his shirt back.





	Self-Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> I've added a bit more context, but the way I write, it might not show... :/ I've wanted to write more fluff between these two, although it feels like angst. I dislike reading about SaruMi having bad endings, and it feels lack luster to not have a happy romantic ending, and I might have made it like that in this fic. I want there to be a mutual relationship, although at first glance it seems manipulative, but these are two friend's who know each other well, they will sort their shit out sooner or later. (I also might write an actual full story of these two, instead of writing fragmented one shots.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy anyways.

By the end of the day, Fushimi unlocked the door to his apartment and walked inside. Once the door was closed behind him, he stayed standing in the numbing darkness, listening to any distinct noises anywhere within the apartment, but there was nothing. 

“He’s not here,” Fushimi said. Misaki did say he wouldn’t return, but there was a sliver of hope that Fushimi would find him either lying on the couch playing his game with the TV on, or possibly making something to eat in the kitchen where the warm light would darken the marks he had left around Misaki’s neck.

He took off his shoes and walked down the lone hall to the bedroom. That sliver of hope vanishing as he found his bed unoccupied, the blankets left strewn to the side where Misaki had gotten up. The room looked the same as it had when he left, minus Misaki lying under the covers.

He took off his saber and set it against the dresser while the evening light spilled forth upon the wrinkled bed sheets. He blinked, and the memories flowed through his mind. Tantalizing as he sat down, running his fingers through his hair, the memories of Misaki smiling and kissing him, lips pressed together, their bodies warm and soft, their voices aching, and Fushimi knew there was a slight remnant of love beating between them, burning through the layer of clothes they still wore. 

He wanted...so much to believe it. 

That he was loved.

Loved.

Against everything they both stood for, Fushimi had resented it, and bit Misaki who gasped, followed by a moan that Fushimi hadn’t thought to hear come from him. He was burning, burning, burning, inside of himself, and he could do nothing but close his eyes and kiss Misaki to douse the fire. Except Misaki wasn’t what he expected him to be. He was the gasoline, the water he was surrounded in, the toxin flowing down his throat, drowning him. 

“Is that why you were here?” Fushimi muttered, angry at himself. He took off his coat and tossed it into the laundry basket, but he went still when he caught the briefest maroon colored shirt within. Taking out his coat, he pulled Misaki’s red shirt out. The one he had taken off of him that morning. Why is this here? He dropped it in and walked to the dresser, pulling it out and noticing one of his shirts was gone.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. 

Of course Misaki would play with fire, that’s what he was, and he knew that Fushimi also enjoyed getting burned. 

The self-affliction was too raw for the both of them to tear away from each other. Alive and wanting, Fushimi changed into a different shirt, pulled on his sweater, and trousers, before leaving the apartment altogether. He was planning to stay in, but now he had something else to do. 

_ “Stay with me!”  _

Misaki. 

There was rage between them, a wound that wouldn’t heal, but over time, something else began to grow. And Misaki had taken it from the root and curled his fingers before yanking it out. He kept it to himself, and Fushimi had noticed, the slight clinging of his fingers in the fabric of his shirt, and the whispered words in the dark that pulled Fushimi close. He had played a game, and Misaki wasn’t revealing the details of it to Fushimi who understood the circumstances to what it was.

_ Misaki. Misaki. Misaki. You know too much. _

He burned with the same flames that Fushimi would’ve used in his words. A spiteful retort of truth and underlying suffering that they both tried to disregard. Now, thing’s have twisted and changed, becoming unrecognizable, and possibly evolutionary in the context of their relationship.

Misaki didn’t do this without a reason, and Fushimi was smart enough to understand it when he was troubled by the absence. He had to untangle everything, and when he did with soft touches of his fingers, and a coaxing press of their lips together. Fushimi hadn’t caught it right away, and maybe that was Misaki’s intent.

He smiled as he stood outside of Misaki’s apartment.

_ You miss me?  _ Fushimi took out his lockpicks. It was fairly easy. Misaki may be small with hair that framed his face, with an infectious smile, but he was also dangerous and feral. Someone most people wouldn’t want to get into a fight with. Misaki wasn’t the type to back down once he’s pressured, and Fushimi knew that the most. Which only made sense that Fushimi would be the one walking through the door of his apartment. 

He glanced down the hall but heard nothing, it was similar to his own apartment. A loneliness aching along the halls as he walked toward Misaki’s bedroom. The door was ajar as he pushed it open and spotted Misaki lying on the bed, his body curled around his blankets, and the blinds of Misaki’s windows had let in a slit of light that revealed the blue of Fushimi’s shirt. 

Why when it has only been a day, and Fushimi has only realized that he’s been starving. He takes off his sweater, leaving it on the floor as he crosses the room. He hesitates to touch the bed, gazing down at Misaki’s sleeping face, lips parted and breathing softly. 

Beauti—

”Misaki,” Fushimi pressed a foot against Misaki’s side, pushing against him, “wake up, Misaki.”

He groaned, brows pushing against each other as he moved, stretching like a cat, the shirt pulling and was too big on Misaki that it revealed the markings on his pale neck, yet the splotches were reminders, constant reminders that it left Fushimi breathless, and his entire body had gone still at the sight. 

_ My self-destruction.  _

“You’re so unfair,” Fushimi whispered, pulling back his leg before kneeling onto the bed, placing a hand on Misaki’s arm, nudging him. “Misaki.”

Misaki groaned and blinked open his eyes, too tired to keep them open, but realization flickered momentarily. “Saru…” 

“Give me back my shirt,” Fushimi whispered, leaning closer, playing with the hem of the shirt at Misaki’s arm. 

“Stay,” Misaki murmured, his fingers finding Fushimi’s arms and pulling him closer. “Stay with me.”

This isn’t fair. He says it in a way that it could be a beg, a plead, an order or a demand. Something promised in the bed sheets, in the silence between them, and the race of their hearts and the kiss that devours Fushimi, it absolutely leaves him starved for more. He wants it, needs it, to consume him in and out, and it might be driving him insane if he hadn’t grappled for control that morning when he left Misaki. That same simmering rage between them, scalding and leaving scars, but this was more than he could ever think he’d receive.

_ Am I even worthy of being loved by you? _

Misaki opened his eyes and stared at Fushimi in the dark, between them, time could’ve stopped and it wouldn’t have mattered. He would stay here and love him with all of his heart, and leave marks on every surface of his body. A reminder that Fushimi can’t live for long without him. 

“You’re so unfair,” Fushimi whispered, and he kissed Misaki, leaving the blue shirt on his body, where it belongs.

He wouldn’t hesitate, even if he tried, he wouldn’t. 


End file.
